


Calm after the Storm

by Oliver__Niko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, Romance, The Great Fódlan Bakeoff (Fire Emblem), Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: In a world where those with Major Crests are captured and reduced to mindless puppets, Sylvain never stops fighting to secure a future for the man he loves.Together, they change fate, and together, they heal.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Calm after the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought of this concept in a flash after the Bakeoff themes were announced. Yesterday I wrote the entire thing. Today, I edited it, alongside the help of samariumwriting (thank you, Leo!). And somehow I think it's actually my favourite oneshot to date? Please check out Leo's too as it's such a good fic!
> 
> I do hope you enjoy it. For those not aware, the themes covered this time are flowers, reunion, courage, sunrise/sunset and trust.

An onslaught of noise after noise is all around them. Furious rain cascades onto the world below. The horse’s hooves collide with the ground, splashing water in their wake, scattering stones and snapping branches. Harsh breaths are taken away by the wind blasting against their faces.

“We won’t have to travel in this forever,” says Sylvain, glancing up at the sky. “Just until we know we can stop somewhere, all right?”

“Don’t stop.” The arms looped around Sylvain’s waist grow tighter. “Please. Don’t stop.”

It’s not often that Felix pleads. Not unless he is at his most desperate. A single hand leaves the horse’s reins, Sylvain stroking it over Felix’s arms. The latter’s grip tightens a little more as his head leans against Sylvain’s shoulder. Sylvain kicks the horse’s sides to encourage it to run faster.

They’ll be fine. They have to be. Weeks have yet to pass before that day will arrive, and everything has been set in place. Finally, after years upon years of feeling powerless, useless, Sylvain is able to do _something_ for the world. They simply have to push through this miserable night.

“Can I say something?” Felix ends up asking, after minutes have passed and the two have now entered a forest.

“Always, sweetheart.”

“I’m terrified. I’ve never known what it feels like to have this much fear.”

Sylvain isn’t sure why he smiles. Perhaps it’s because Felix is being honest, sincere; something he struggles with. It could be how Sylvain understands him more than anyone else does. Or it might be simple; a smile of sadness, disbelief, that they are cursed enough to have this be their fate.

“Me too,” says Sylvain. “My heart won’t stop pounding. But I promise you, Felix. We’re going to get you far from there.”

Silence is Sylvain’s only verbal response. Physically, however, Felix's head turns and his face burrows into the back of Sylvain’s shoulder. Should they exist in a brighter moment, Sylvain would be happy over Felix not hesitating to be physically close to his partner. But their reality won’t allow such trivial emotions.

Their reality gives Sylvain a far harsher realisation: of Felix being close to him because he’s frightened that here, as the two escape together, Felix will experience his last moments of having Sylvain in arm’s reach, whilst he can still feel it.

Not on Sylvain’s watch. The two emerge from the forest. Sylvain guides the horse to canter down a slope, aiming for the other side of a lake in front of them.

_Soon. Soon we can stop somewhere safe, get some sleep, and then—_

“Sylvain!”

He only manages to steer the horse away partially. A gasp of pain escapes his lips as a harsh blast of dark magic hits his shoulder. It merely scrapes by him, but the force is enough to send him flying off the horse and collapse on the floor in a mass of water and mud.

“Don’t,” says Sylvain, trying to hold his hand up to Felix when he jumps to the floor. The horse has raced away to the side in fear, although is loyal enough to have remained. “Take her and go!”

Felix isn’t listening. In no area of Felix’s mind could he ever consider leaving Sylvain behind. He slides onto the drenched ground, raising a hand to Sylvain’s shoulder. A golden glow emits beneath his palm. Illuminating the night, and revealing those who approach them, although the wings from mounted units in the air have long since been heard.

They appear from nowhere. Wyverns, horses, those on foot, surrounding them at every corner. Sylvain’s heart is racing, grasping Felix’s arm the moment his shoulder is healed. 

“How did you—?” Sylvain starts.

“Advanced warp spells are useful, you know,” a general interrupts. He, like the others, dons a church’s uniform. “All we had to do was wait for you to pass by.”

“But it’s still weeks until my birthday,” says Felix. Sylvain can feel him trembling and knows it’s not from the winter night alone. “You shouldn’t—”

“We have eyes everywhere. And I mean _everywhere._ Did you really think that we would have no tabs on you at all until you turned eighteen? Don’t make me laugh. The church watches. Always.”

“You’re not really the church.” An act of resilience in the face of fear. Felix spits the words, fury mingling in with the terror in his eyes. “You’re nothing but scum who have taken it over.”

“Spare the details. What matters more than anything now is for you to come along nice and easy, and we’ll forgive the two of you for trying to go against us.”

The couple have slowly risen to their feet. Eyes glancing around, taking in their numbers and trying not to accept reality. That there’s no chance of escape. 

Sylvain's arm stretches out in front of Felix. “You’re not taking him.”

“Oh?” another general laughs. “And what _exactly_ will you do to stop us? You’re still practically a child.”

“I’d rather die,” says Felix. 

“Now, now. Don’t be like that. We won’t ever spill such sacred blood. In fact, we even want to avoid wasting _yours,”_ the general gestures to Sylvain, “considering it still bears so much hidden power, even if not as great as the Fraldarius’ heir.”

“Yeah? Well, nothing will stop me from driving a knife through my chest before I give you a chance to use that blood.”

Sylvain’s heart stops from Felix’s words, but he cannot say anything. There’s a part of him which knows that this, in Felix’s eyes, is his second best fate after freedom. Never does he want to hand over the reins to his own existence. And never, for a single second, has Sylvain considered letting it happen.

But even the clear truth embedded in those words does not faze their enemies. They merely laugh, soon gesturing to someone behind them. Out of the corner of Sylvain’s eye, he sees Felix’s mouth drop open. 

“Father.” Sylvain clutches Felix’s arm to hold him back. “ _Father!”_

He’s alive. Thank the Goddess he’s alive. Even with those bruises on his face, a dry stream of blood dripping from his temple, and the sword directed at its neck.

Rodrigue’s voice is weak as he says, “I’m sorry.”

A cold wave of realisation hits Sylvain. “You told them? You told them about tonight?” 

The silence in response speaks volumes. Although perhaps it’s how Felix’s rage seems directed at those who would dare touch his father, how Rodrigue’s guilt and remorse can be sensed from here, which causes Sylvain to not lash out. He only grips tighter on Felix’s arm when he takes a step forward.

“Felix.” Sylvain tries to keep his voice firm. Little by little, this is failing him. “Don’t. Please.”

Felix shakes his head. Wide, frightened eyes, and lips pressed into a tight line. He forces his arm out of Sylvain’s grip. “Don’t do it,” he says to them.

“You think words are enough to stop us?” Rodrigue’s head is pulled back by his hair, the man releasing a hiss through clenched teeth. The sword is brought closer to his neck. 

“You already killed my brother. I’m not letting you take him as well!”

“Then come with us willingly, and we’ll spare his life. As well as your boyfriend’s there.”

“Felix—” Sylvain starts.

“Take my father, get on the horse, and run.” Felix’s eyes flicker back to Sylvain’s face. Now they’re … defeated. Filled with acceptance. “You’ve still got a chance, even without me. You can help put a stop to all of this.”

“I can’t.” Sylvain shakes his head. Tears could be falling down his face, but he won’t ever know in this falling rain. “I can’t let you go.”

Felix merely smiles. Somehow, Sylvain can spot the difference between raindrops and tears when he’s staring at the face he knows so well. “It won’t be forever. Not when it comes to you.”

With those words, he turns. Hands rise in surrender as he steps towards them. Sylvain half-expects them to slit Rodrigue’s throat there and then, laughing in Felix’s face as they do so. But they don’t. They force Rodrigue forward, the man stumbling to the ground. Felix helps him up, pushing him in Sylvain’s direction, who takes the man in his arms.

Immediately after, Felix is forced to the ground.

_“Felix!”_

Even with his battered state, Rodrigue attempts to hold Sylvain back. The resolve of a father who is sobbing for his son, and for that son to sacrifice himself for those he loves, roots Sylvain’s feet to the ground. He can only watch. Watch as they begin it all right in front of his eyes.

Felix is on his knees, and a knife stabs into his back from behind. No blood is drawn. Instead, a swirling chaos of black smoke surrounds that blade, seeping straight into Felix. His mouth is open as though trying to release a scream lodged in his throat.

“May take a little while for it to take over completely.” The talk is normal, _casual,_ as though turning these innocent souls into their puppets is simply a stroll in the park for them. “Twenty-four hours, perhaps.”

“Felix, speak to me!” Sylvain steps forward, Rodrigue forcing him back with as much strength as he can manage. “Felix—”

“I can’t see.” All resolve, firmness, has disappeared in that near whimper; all that is left is absolute fear. “Sylvain, I can’t see you, I can’t see _anything.”_

Now Sylvain knows he’s crying for real. It’s horrifying to read on paper. In real life, it’s worse than the most monstrous nightmare his mind could ever force on him. “Stop it! Stop it and do it to me instead! I have a Crest too, you can—”

“It’s only a _Minor_ Crest,” one of them sneers. “There’s no use in controlling _you._ Not worth the effort at all.”

Sylvain shakes his head. He’s struggling, Rodrigue still holding him back, weapons held in front of them by laughing knights, as Felix curls up on the ground, crying out in pain.

Somewhere in those cries, he says Sylvain’s name, calls for his father, and Sylvain’s agony becomes the foundation of resolve, of utter fury. 

“Felix, listen.” _While you still can, before that is taken from you too._ “I won’t let them get away with this.”

“Sylvain.” He knows why Rodrigue is tugging on his arm. Reality is harsh, it’s cruel, and it forces Sylvain to only choose Felix after letting him go first.

“I will always find you. _Always._ No matter what happens to you, I’ll be back. I promise.”

 _“Sylvain!”_ Rodrigue’s shout meshes with a sob, and there is hesitance in how he’s trying to drag Sylvain away. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to make this choice either.

“I love you, I’ll _always_ love you, and I refuse to ever let you go!”

Felix head lifts. And despite everything, he shakily smiles and nods. No words leave him. Sylvain wonders if they have already been stripped away as well.

Either way, Felix has listened and believes Sylvain’s words, and Sylvain has to follow through with the most difficult choice he has ever made. Take Rodrigue by the arm, lift the injured man onto the horse, and leave Felix behind.

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain whispers, resisting the need to scream out into the coldness of night and block out the laughter he hears in the distance. “I’m sorry.”

And in front of him, held up by Sylvain’s arm, Rodrigue howls and says the same.

* * *

_Serenity and calmness. It will be taken away from them little by little as the future draws closer, and freedom is only temporary. In these moments of peace, desperation lingers beneath the surface, for they know it cannot last forever._

_Even so, Felix is laughing. He doesn’t properly know of his fate. Not like Sylvain, eleven-years-old and with a little more knowledge in his hands, who dreams of a future where he can save his best friend._

_“What_ are _you doing?” Felix asks, watching as Sylvain ties together the stems of flowers, forming them into a ring._

_“Well, you have pretty hair, so let’s make something pretty to match.”_

_Felix’s head tilts slightly in curiosity, although he is silent as Sylvain continues his work. Soon, it’s ready, and Sylvain lifts the flower crown and pops it onto Felix’s head._

_“Ta-da!”_

_Hands reach to the flower crown, taking the ends of petals between tiny fingers. Felix snorts. “I bet I look silly.”_

_“Nah, you don’t. Come look!”_

_Sylvain jumps to his feet, pulling Felix along by his hand to bring him to a stream of water nearby. The latter peers at his reflection and lets out a laugh. This time, it’s of genuine joy._

_“Okay, I like it.”_

_“Right?”_

_“Mm. I look … kind of like my aunt did at her wedding.” Felix pauses, before asking, slightly quieter, “Is it possible for two boys to get married?”_

_“Why?” Sylvain grins, nudging Felix with his elbow. “Want to marry me?”_

_Felix huffs. A moment’s pause, before he mumbles, “Well, I can’t imagine marrying anyone but you.”_

_A smile breaks out on Sylvain’s face. He takes both of Felix’s hands, giving them a squeeze as he says, “Well, even if it_ wasn’t _possible for us to get married, we’d make it happen somehow.”_

_Felix smiles too, a dusting of pink reaching his face. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”_

In that moment, Sylvain vowed to give Felix a future in which marrying _anyone_ would be possible. Where he would not be transformed into a blank slate at the age of eighteen. 

In the present, he can no longer contain his anger as his fist collides with a wall.

“I still can’t believe you did that.” His voice is shaking with rage. “I can’t believe you’d tell them.”

“They’d have found you either way, from what they told me.” In return, Rodrigue’s voice is frail, with no sign of being defensive; he knows where Sylvain’s emotions come from completely. Is in agreement, even, if Sylvain’s speculations of his guilt are true. “I had to look at the bigger picture. And I told them nothing of the resistance’s plans, Sylvain. None of it. I promise that we’ll be able to fight back.”

“I wanted to fight back with him. We were always supposed to be together.”

A tear falls down Rodrigue’s cheek. “I know. And I apologise that it has had to come to this.”

“How could you have chosen this option?”

“What would you do if you were in my place?”

“I’d die.” The answer is as easy to come to as it is to breathe. “If I had to choose between letting them wipe away Felix’s sense of self like that, and me dying, I’d choose the latter.”

A sad smile appears on Rodrigue’s face, even as another tear leaves his eye. “Would you? Because you did not choose death when we were out there. That is not to say you are selfish,” says Rodrigue hurriedly when Sylvain’s mouth opens, “but you too understand the difficulty behind this. There is every possibility that like any other person with a Major Crest, Felix would have been captured either way. And the best way to counter that is for all of us to live so we can put our plans in motion.”

Sylvain is silent as those words sink in. Goddess, how much it stings to know Rodrigue is right. He doesn’t want it to be as such. An awful, awful part of him wishes to be similar to Felix, who once shifted blame onto Rodrigue for the death of his brother, and be able to find blame in Rodrigue as well.

It’s an easier option, to have something to unleash rage on. But it’s unfair. It’s not based in truth. All the blame behind this is on those who dare to have created such a foul system. Not those who are trying to destroy it.

“I’m sorry.” Sylvain meets Rodrigue’s eyes. “I’ve been too harsh. I know you’re just trying to help him, as well as everyone else affected by this damn mess. I shouldn’t be blaming you.”

“You love him. And when you love someone this dearly, you would rather find any other option than them to be hurt.” Rodrigue’s head lowers, hands grasping the bed covers smoothed out over his legs. “But I have already lost a son to them. They killed him purely because he too tried to fight back, protect his younger brother from such a cruel future. And I will not allow them to continue harming my family.”

Sylvain shakes his head. He breathes out, already relatively calmer than before. He has to be. Getting worked up and making errors because of it will do nothing but contribute to Felix’s suffering. “I know. And I’ll play my own part in trying to help.”

He and Rodrigue turn at the sound of a knock on the door. It opens, revealing two heads of blond hair: Dimitri and Ingrid.

“Good to see you are recovering, Rodrigue,” says the former. He closes the door after the pair. “We already have more plans in play.”

“Where are we at now?” asks Sylvain.

“All preparations are set to begin war against the church. Edelgard, Claude, and I are arranging when would be the best moment to declare it.”

“Luckily, it’s far from uncommon knowledge that the Crest wielders in the church have been put under control,” says Ingrid. “Most do not want to support what the church has been forced into. However, their power is simply too great, and they’ve taken over so much of the land that it has been difficult to fight back. It’s going to be a long, difficult road ahead.”

“And Felix?” Sylvain knows that one would deem it sensible to focus on the biggest picture, but all he can think about is those whimpered words in the rain, where all of Felix’s resolve seemed to crumble beneath him. “How would you say he is now?”

A moment of silence. “By now,” says Dimitri, his voice slightly quieter, “they likely have him fully under their control. As you know, the process to turn Major Crest wielders into puppets begins by blocking off every single sense. And with how much time has passed …”

Sylvain swallows. He has imagined it countless times in his life. How it must be to reside in nothing but darkness, perceive nothing that is happening around you. No smell, sight, hearing, touch. Not a single word from your lips, reduced to a perfect blank slate.

Every trait of Felix’s pops into mind. His scowls, spat words. The way he averts his eyes when he is embarrassed. Smiles that seem to light up the whole room, and laughter made no less beautiful by how rare it is to hear it.

How Felix’s touch is gentler than one might expect. The way his eyebrows furrow when Sylvain kisses him, how sometimes, he’ll curl up and put his head on Sylvain’s lap, but act as though he’s not doing anything at all. Not anything that causes Sylvain’s heart to jump for joy.

Now, it sinks, and he thinks he could be sick when imagining all of that being ripped away.

“We will get him back,” says Ingrid. “It … it does take time, yes, but those who we have rescued and managed to return to normal do recover little by little. And Felix will do the same.”

Sylvain nods slowly, whilst shaking his head mentally at himself. Now is not the time to allow sickening thoughts and overwhelming worries to take over.

“We _will_ save him,” says Sylvain. “Even if that means war.”

* * *

War somehow feels little different than every year Sylvain has lived so far. He and Felix have constantly fought for their future, trained almost everyday together, waiting for a day when they can hopefully change the paths of fate and give Felix a life to look forward to. Never did a second go by where some higher power wasn’t against them.

Sylvain has to admit it: war is invigorating in its own sense. It’s difficult to find remorse for enemies who have caused so much suffering across Fódlan, despite how much Sylvain would prefer not to kill anyone. War means that Sylvain can finally _do_ something. No running, only fighting back.

It began not long after Sylvain lost Felix. Since then, time has flown by, everyone seeming to go through the motions as smoothly as gears in a machine. Acceptance helps. Knowing there is no other way to change the course of fate, when non-violent methods will not work against such violent oppressors. 

Sylvain looks at that time with fear in his eyes. How a year passes, and another, and another, and they still continue to fight. In all that time, Felix has been a prisoner of his own erased mind. If one feels terror amongst that darkness, Felix must experience it in every single moment.

Sometimes, the knowledge of this weighs down on Sylvain so heavily he cannot breathe. He’ll collapse at the foot of his bed trying not to scream out to whoever damned them to such a life. But every time, he picks himself up again, because he has to fight for that light at the end of the tunnel.

Slowly but surely, they have made progress. They take back their land little by little. Their ultimate destination, Garreg Mach Monastery, still seems so far away. But what matters is that they _are_ getting closer.

Sylvain almost surprises himself by how much of a natural leader he is. Perhaps he shouldn’t be when he’s always been gregarious, quick with his words and far more intelligent than one may see him as. He simply never imagined that he could be this strong without the hand of the person he loves most in his own.

Perhaps the sheer desperation to feel that hand again, and have Felix perceive that touch, drives him more than anything else would.

Everyday, he fights. But there are moments when he accepts that he must slow down. Together with the man who seems to age every week, Sylvain stares out at the sunset in front of them, and with a pang of his heart, remembers when he kissed Felix for the first time beneath a sky with similar warm colours.

“Have you heard about the descriptions of Felix?” asks Rodrigue.

“A swordsman so fast he is a blur, taking down foes before they can blink,” says Sylvain. His voice has grown quieter, recalling the first moment he heard of those rumours, and how he hadn’t been sure how to react other than through clenched fists and a rapidly beating heart. “You know, if Felix was doing that against those who slither in the dark, and out of his own free will, I’d be impressed. But that isn’t the case.”

The swordsman with no life in his eyes. Not a single word exits those lips, and he gives the impression that he lives for nothing but that stained blade in his hand.

Felix adores training, has always been passionate about swords, but never would he deem it as the only important thing in his life.

“It sickens me,” Sylvain continues. “How they can turn people into nothing but monsters they use under their wing. I can’t fathom it at all. And it’s only because they were born with something they never asked for.”

Rodrigue’s eyes close, head bowed over the arms he crosses over on a balcony’s railing. “I was terrified when Felix was born with a Major Crest. I wanted to flee with him, find somewhere new to live and start over, hiding his existence from the world. But no matter where I would have gone, nowhere would have been safe. They’d have found us either way.”

“They always do.” Even now three years have passed, Sylvain still shouts himself awake, remembering the fear he felt during that dreadful night.

“So I chose to stay. I began to help in any way I could to shape a different future. For myself, for my son, for everyone. And I have to remind myself that I did not make the easy choice.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “You made the hardest, if anything. I get that now. And Ailell would freeze over before I let that go to waste.”

At last, one of those rare smiles, even if sadness is brimming beneath the surface, appears on Rodrigue’s face. “You’ve turned into a fine man, Sylvain. Far braver than you might think.”

“Brave?” Sylvain chuckles. “Nah. I’m just doing what has to be done.”

“Yes. You do that with the greatest resolve I have ever seen in a person. You take each day as it comes, every task that must be fulfilled, with courage and eyes fixed on the future you’re fighting for. Felix would be proud of you.”

The words almost sound as though Felix is dead. Sylvain’s chest tightens over the thought, but when he nods his head in response, he’s filled with determination. Felix has said before that he would rather die than be a puppet in their hands. Sylvain will prove that he will bring him back to life, one day at a time, and will be by his side for however long it takes.

* * *

Two more years. Extending their territory farther, building up their forces. All in all, everything looks positive for them. Victory certainly seems far more attainable than before. Although of course, they cannot let their successes get to their head. They cannot allow everything to fall after how far they’ve come.

Though they have to fear the power of Rhea and others who have been taken over in the church, their true enemy lies in the one who controls them: Nemesis. Helping to bring back the minds of every person with a Major Crest is simply not doable. The chances of returning them to their normal selves manually are slim, and it seems fruitless to waste their efforts on capturing them. Should they take down those who are behind their control, all of it should finally come to an end.

Five years. _Five years,_ and Sylvain still spends at least a moment of every day thinking of Felix. For him, those years have passed by in a blur of chaos and violence, but for Felix … Sylvain knows it’s impossible for him to do anything but suffer.

Felix told him to flee all that time ago. He _wanted_ Sylvain to live and do all he can as part of the operation. And, most of the time, Sylvain accepts that this is the correct path to have taken. The rest of the time is filled with paralysing guilt.

But now, as they stand in Garreg Mach and all they can hear is the slashing of weapons, the blasting of magic and shouts which follow, Sylvain knows that dwelling on this guilt will do little more than get him killed.

“Claude’s faction is already heading beneath ground,” says Dimitri. Sylvain nods; after taking over the land around their previous base, Nemesis has retreated straight back into the greatest source of their power. “Edelgard’s, meanwhile, are taking on Rhea’s soldiers. They’re going to attempt to not kill her, of course, but their survival is vital.”

“Let me have Felix, when we find the rest,” says Sylvain. “I won’t let anyone else near him, in case they kill him.”

It’s been said before, time and time again. Still, Dimitri nods. He understands, as does everyone, that Sylvain will not accept any other option. Felix will not die for their goal. To Sylvain, he already sacrificed himself once for the bigger picture; he will not do so again.

Adrenaline kicks in. Dimitri’s faction slaughters those who approach, one enemy down at a time. The lance in Sylvain’s hands seems to have a life on its own, beyond the jitter of those bones at its end. It slices at Sylvain’s enemies with frighteningly little remorse.

He cares for life more than anyone. If he didn’t, he would not have his life’s focus be on Felix reclaiming his. But his sight focuses on a single thing, the memory of Felix’s suffering, enough for Sylvain to wield that lance mercilessly.

Mounted units leave their horses to one side as they infiltrate the monastery. A flash of light causes Sylvain’s heart to skip a beat, remembering Felix’s Thoron magic, but that brightness is soon spotted from a woman’s sword: Catherine, whose attack is blocked by Dimitri.

“They truly have brought all their puppets back here,” says Dimitri, forcing Catherine back. “Sylvain—”

“He’ll be here, too.” Sylvain’s heart hammers in his chest over the prospect. Relief above all else, although he cannot deny his fear over seeing what his beloved has become.

But he continues on, determined to find him among the chaos. Always, always searching, never relenting—he’s so close he can almost taste Felix’s lips again.

_“Okay?” Sylvain says, parting away from their kiss. The back of Felix’s hand is held over his mouth, and his eyes are fixed on the ground. Should this be another moment, where Felix isn’t struggling to let down his walls, Sylvain might have teased him over the deepening blush on his face. For now, as always, he waits for him._

_“Okay,” Felix finally confirms. “But Goddess. I’m terrible at kissing, I’m sorry.”_

_Sylvain laughs, shaking his head. “Nah! Well, okay, maybe you’re not the_ best … _But you know how that can be solved?”_

_“By me never kissing anyone again so I don’t have to relive that shame?”_

_“No! The opposite, silly. You just have to get your practice in.”_

_A pause, Felix finally bringing his eyes up from the ground. He rolls them, but when his hand lowers from his face, he smiles fondly and nods._

And that was the day Sylvain realised two things. Second kisses are not given anywhere near as much credit as they deserve in comparison to the first, and that he would never let himself live a life where he is unable to feel those lips.

“Felix.”

The rumours seem perfectly fitting, although far from reality all at once. They have not described the sheer terror behind looking at this man. At a glance, perhaps he seems normal. Donning swordsmaster attire, his hair pulled back into a ponytail—somewhat shorter than it had been before—and holding his blade to the side as he stands facing Sylvain.

But look closer, and it all feels so wrong. No essence of emotion on his face. A perfectly straight stance, almost robotic. He stares without feeling, without anything behind the eyes Sylvain can see at this distance, and there is no purpose in the sword in his hand.

No burning passion. No thoughts. Nothing but a hollow shell, and Sylvain’s heart beats so loudly, he feels its pulse in his ears.

The cathedral is huge, the high ceiling soars above their heads, but it feels enclosed. Nothing exists but the two of them.

Sylvain moves. Only slightly, taking a step forward. And it’s enough for Felix to charge. 

The Lance of Ruin is brought across Sylvain’s chest to block the sword aiming to kill. Up close, Felix’s face is even worse. His expression hasn’t shifted, not a single ounce of life in those eyes.

It’s hard to imagine that Felix is in there, _somewhere,_ but Sylvain hasn’t come this far only to be scared away by this inevitable fight.

“You might have beaten me more than I have you, but I’ve gotten better.” Sylvain drives the sword away, jumping back away from another slash. “I took all the criticism you gave me, and now I reckon I could turn the tables. Even when you’re like this.”

Felix’s movements have always seemed flawless. Now, however, he seems almost unreal in how fast he moves. Darting around Sylvain, conjuring lightning in his sword as he leaps into the air. He changes course instantly when Sylvain sends a fireball in response. The blade is brought in front of him instead, and he lands on the balls of his feet after blocking the attack.

He charges. Again, and again. And the whole time, Sylvain does only what he must. Dodging, blocking, kicking and punching at Felix to keep him back. He winces at the tip of Felix’s sword plunging past his side. But in an instant, he recovers and spins, elbowing between Felix’s shoulders.

Felix stumbles, but even this feels inhuman, how not a single sound of pain is released from Felix’s lips. Nothing but increasing breaths. 

“You really have become strong,” says Sylvain, blocking another attack. Felix jumps to dodge the leg sent to his own. Hands on the floor assist with Felix flipping back. He darts forward from the ball of his left foot, Sylvain now the one to dodge. “But it’s too robotic to be you.”

In every aspect, this Felix has the old one beat. He’s perfect, as a toy should be. But that perfection is too fabricated. Sylvain finds struggle in how these aren’t the same movements as the Felix he has fought countless times, but they’re so systematic that he adjusts to them before long. Every single motion is clearly from a mind other than Felix’s own.

Sylvain hates it. He hates it so terribly that he has to remind himself that this is Felix. Beneath that mask is the person he loves, those calloused hands are those he loves to hold, kiss—it’s all _him,_ even if at the moment, everything that makes Felix himself is lost.

“I know you’re in there,” says Sylvain, during a brief moment of reprieve; the puppet sidesteps slowly, programmed to calculate a weakness. “Goddamnit, I know that we can get you back, and I’m not going to even _think_ about killing you, no matter how much you want to kill me.”

It hurts. How terribly it hurts that every blast of magic, swing of that blade, is to kill. Whenever he and Felix have fought against each other in the past, it is all to mutually grow with one another. They would grin, even laugh, enjoying the competitiveness despite how the burden of reality existed beneath the surface. How all of it was to fight against the chains which would soon bind Felix.

_I love you. I love you more than anything, even now. I need to bring you back._

But no words or pleading eyes can get through to Felix. Sylvain begs silently for their plans to work, that by now, Claude and his companions might be closer, finally able to end all of this.

Because Sylvain is panting, his limbs are growing tired, and he’s not sure how much longer he can fight for that future he so desperately craves with Felix.

Felix is still human. The effects of their drawn-out battle are apparent on him as well, through the reactions no amount of control can prevent. Beads of sweat, heavier breaths, a reddened face. But the lack of emotion and ability to feel pain prove to be a strength here.

 _Clang._ The Lance of Ruin is on the ground. Sylvain follows, falling onto his back, gaze on the man looming towards him. Felix raises his sword above his head in arms that tremble slightly.

It’s almost as though he hesitates. But such a thing is impossible, Sylvain knowing it is merely from exertion, and his eyes close as he waits for the inevitable.

He can at least hope that he has drawn out enough time for them to have finished what has to be done, and that Felix will be back to normal before his death is the only option.

Sylvain simply cannot kill him. He can’t. And when his eyes open at the sound of a blade dropping to the floor, he realises he doesn’t have to.

“Felix?” 

Hands are slowly reaching towards Felix’s mouth. Back slouched, legs shaking beneath his weight. His eyes are widened, finally bearing emotion once again; utmost fear unlike Sylvain has ever seen in him.

Sylvain scrambles towards him. The proof of their victory is somewhere in the back of his mind. His focus, however, is on Felix and Felix alone, who crumples to the floor with his head bowed, hands over his head.

“Felix, oh Goddess, Felix.” Sylvain makes the mistake of trying to touch him. Felix’s form becomes even smaller, tighter, a noise escaping his lips. Sylvain is unsure of how to describe it, other than how it reminds him of a cornered, wounded animal. “I … I …”

He doesn’t know what to do. In the distance, he can hear shouts of victory, words on taking down the rest of the remaining enemy. But he feels none of it. Only concern, the deepest pain, over this figure violently trembling in front of him.

The words Ingrid said one day return to him. _“All the senses they previously had sealed off come rushing back. Imagine feeling nothing, absolutely nothing, and then … everything, all at once.”_

“Felix, it’s me.” Sylvain keeps his voice quiet, despite how it might not make a single difference with the chaos all around them. “Do you remember me? Sylvain? You’re back, you’re finally back.”

He doesn’t dare touch Felix again. All he can do is watch, trying to observe if the convulsive shakes really do calm, or if that is only his hopeful imagination.

And then, Felix moves. Straightening up slightly, still keeping his hands on his head. Frantic amber eyes dart around him before settling on Sylvain’s face. Those erratic breaths seem to ease by a miniscule amount.

“Syl … vain.”

His voice sounds as though it hasn’t been used in years—which Sylvain, with a horrid twisting of his gut, realises is true. But he remembers. Felix remembers, even if those eyes are wide, terrified, uncertain on how to process all the information around him.

A bang erupts in the distance. Felix releases a strangled cry, coiling over again, strands of hair grasped between his fingers. His head shakes at the sound of steps hurrying towards them.

“Felix!” exclaims the voice of Ingrid, Sylvain shooting his head around.

“Careful. Please.”

Her mouth is open, bottom lip trembling with the desire to speak, but she eventually nods through her silent crying.

“Felix, we’re going to get you out of here.” Sylvain is still murmuring. His hand hovers over Felix’s shoulder, not quite touching him. He edges away regardless. “You’re safe now. I promise that it’s over. I … I found you, like I said I would, and I’m never letting you go again.”

The words seem to have no effect. As minutes pass, however, the trembles reduce slightly. And eventually, Sylvain is darting forward to catch Felix as he almost falls to his side on the floor.

Despite how long he hasn’t been himself for, seeing him fall unconscious is, if anything, a relief. Sylvain brings him closer, positioning Felix so he’s over his lap. And, unable to resist, hugs this body close now he has the chance. Felix feels exactly as he always has.

Ingrid’s hand squeezes at Sylvain’s shoulder, and a wave of tears washes over him.

* * *

One might say it’s over, but in reality, there is still so much left to be done.

Sylvain sits in a chair by Felix’s bed. He’s been brought to a room within Garreg Mach Monastery. Two days have passed, and he has done … nothing. Nothing at all but remain there. Curled up on the bed, facing away from Sylvain, his form still trembling. 

A tiny part of Sylvain is grateful that he’s finally here. But he simply won’t be saved, brought back, until Sylvain breaks through this too.

“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice is quiet, but Felix still flinches. “Sorry. I just … I wanted you to know that I’ll be staying here for as long as you need, okay? However long it takes, even years.”

No words are given. Sylvain wouldn’t expect them. He classes Felix moving, however, as a response, even if that movement is to only bring the duvet over him closer to his chin.

Rodrigue cannot do more than linger in the doorway when he visits as well. It’s too agonising, Sylvain guesses, for a father to not even be able to touch his son. Sylvain also finds it almost unbearable. But whenever he considers how much worse it is for Felix, he’s given a source of strength for the determination to make it right again.

He can’t fix this. But he can at least try to make it better.

Each day, he returns. The medics say that Felix needs to adjust to his senses all over again. He’s overwhelmed beyond comprehension. His eyes are usually closed so he doesn’t have to see, hands over his ears to block out sound as best as he can. Examinations of his body when he’s been asleep show that his body is also under a lot of physical trauma. Whilst in their control, it’s obvious that he has only been fighting, eating sustenance and, when absolutely necessary, sleep.

Magic and potions given to him during his slumber help ease the symptoms. However, feeling all that pain and exhaustion on top of the return of his senses doesn’t help at all. All Felix wants to do is block out every essence of feeling, but they know that they cannot let this happen, otherwise he will never recover.

And so, Sylvain keeps on coming back. Speaking to him with whispered words of reassurance, trying to help him one bit at a time. At the moment, Felix’s nourishment is also given through liquids that he can consume in his sleep, but Sylvain’s current goal is to at least have Felix responsive enough to try some solids.

As each day passes, those trembles seem to reduce slightly. Victory is found in the moment where Felix’s eyes peer up at Sylvain next to him. Still silent, fearful, but he’s watching. A sense of familiarity is in that gaze.

And, on another day, Sylvain gets Felix to sit up. Felix often flinches and becomes overwhelmed by noises in the distance. Everyone tries to be quiet when moving past his room, but of course, sometimes it’s inevitable that they startle him.

“Will you try this?” Sylvain says. He lifts up a pair of earmuffs. “They’re soft, so they won’t hurt, I promise. And they’ll help block out noise a little.”

But not completely—that is their aim here, for Felix to still listen to Sylvain’s words. Everyday, until he will finally say something back.

For now, he nods. Sylvain is careful when reaching over to hand Felix the earmuffs. Felix himself is cautious when placing them on his head, but leans back without much reaction.

“How’s that?” Sylvain can allow himself to speak a little louder. Felix’s eyes grow wide, and he nods slowly. Sylvain notices the relaxing chest and smiles in response. “Okay, good. And I’ve been thinking, well … When you first came back, you had to face a lot of harsh noises, didn’t you? So maybe we should help you listen to something that sounds nicer.”

A hint of curiosity appears in Felix’s eyes. This in itself causes Sylvain’s heart to pound that little faster, knowing that such an emotion is a development. And so, he sings. 

Careful, slow, his voice raw yet gentle. His hands ache with the desire to reach out and hold Felix’s. But he keeps them to himself. One step at a time, especially when this is enough progress in itself.

Sylvain thinks he might burst into tears when at the end of his song, a tear trickles down Felix’s own face and the corners of his lips twitch, as though threatening a smile. 

It’s fine that he doesn’t do so properly. Sylvain’s own smile, stretched from ear to ear, is large enough for the two of them.

* * *

Weeks later, Felix is eating again. It’s only food with mild taste, speculation enough to show that he isn’t yet able to deal with stronger tastes and more unusual textures, but it’s an amazing accomplishment in itself. Upon this information and with a heart that is now stronger, Rodrigue has been visiting as well and sitting by Sylvain, speaking to Felix. He admittedly seems slightly more tense with the company of two as opposed to one, but the fact that it’s not too much to see Rodrigue as well is great progress.

But it’s on Sylvain’s shoulders most of all to help Felix into all of this, and he would not have it any other way. Every improvement, big or small, warms his entire heart. He’s starting to dream of the future again.

Felix will likely never be the same as before, but to Sylvain, this is fine; even now as he’s so isolated in himself, there are still so many reasons that Sylvain loves him, he couldn’t possibly count them off on both hands.

One day, he brings Felix flowers. This causes Felix to raise an eyebrow, and Sylvain has to stop himself from bouncing with glee from the sheer amount of _Felix_ in that reaction.

“Don’t be like that,” says Sylvain. “I remember you blushing like a fool when I gave you flowers the first time. Anyway, I want you to smell them.”

He hands them over to Felix. Felix watches him curiously, but soon takes them and lifts him to his nose. He inhales the scent, and his shoulders visibly relax.

“See? I want to prove to you that feeling isn’t always a bad thing. In fact, it’s fantastic. You’ve had to deal with so much these past few years, and all that you had to witness when you were brought back …” Sylvain swallows, still wishing it had been possible to capture Felix and have him awaken in a quiet room, despite how he would have become overwhelmed either way. “I know it was horrible for you. So I want to show you, little by little, that you can experience more than just suffering.”

Felix watches Sylvain. Curious, the slight furrow of his eyebrows as he processes this. He sniffs the flowers again, and this time, he smiles.

He finally smiles, and Sylvain can no longer hold back tears.

“Don’t worry,” says Sylvain when this smile immediately fades, Felix’s hand held out as though desiring to touch him. But he’s wary, still. Unsure if he can trust Sylvain again. “They’re good tears, I swear. I’m just—I’m really proud of you, Felix. Truly.”

And he is. There have been countless times in his life where he can say he is proud of Felix, but nothing equates to how he feels during these passing days. Some are harsher than others, where Felix can do nothing but curl up in bed, hands over ears that are already covered, shaking with silent tears streaming down his face. But overall, he is growing steadily, and Sylvain finds himself thankful for his own survival, to be the one who gets to help this growth.

Sylvain continues to speak to the medics, Rodrigue, his friends, working on how to bring Felix up steadily. He’s almost surprised by the amount of faith and control over the process put into his hands. To someone else, they might deem it as a burden. Never, for a second of these days, does he consider it to be this.

“Felix, I want to try something,” says Sylvain. Two moons have transpired. Felix’s face has a little more colour by now, although those eyes are still worn, exhausted. “It’s been great that you’ve managed to walk around this room and in the corridor. But I think it’ll do you a lot of good to go outside and become familiar with your surroundings again.”

Immediately tense. Unfortunately, there will have to be times that Sylvain brings on such a reaction. Though they will never push Felix beyond his limits, he has to be encouraged sometimes to take a larger step forward. It’s all for the future they are trying to bring back for him.

“I promise it’s for the best, but I’m not forcing you into anything you don’t want to do.” When Felix doesn’t respond, merely staring down at the bed covers clenched in his hands, Sylvain places his own hand near him. Not on him—not until he is certain he can do so without sending Felix into a spiral. “Do you trust me?”

Felix eyes shoot to him. His mouth opens, closes again, and his brow creases as he tightens his grip. It stabs Sylvain’s heart to know that Felix cannot say he does, even with the guilt evident on his face. But after all he has endured, Sylvain doesn’t blame him. He would never do that in a million years.

“That’s okay.” Voice gentle, reassuring, and he notices the slight ease of tension in Felix. “You’ve made a lot of progress already, and bit by bit, I’m going to show you can trust me like you did before. You didn’t say no, right?” Felix shakes his head. “Exactly. And that in itself means the world to me, that even if you can’t trust me properly yet, you still want me here with you.”

Felix nods this time. His grip on the covers finally loosens. And, much to Sylvain’s surprise, he swings his legs over the side of his bed and gets to his feet.

“So you’re going to come with me? Excellent. Here, I left some shoes over here.”

It’s killing him a little inside to imagine shoes being worn in a bedroom, but he knows Felix would be much better off getting ready to go outside in here. Sylvain hands over a jumper, then a coat—the harsh winds of the Pegasus Moon are calmer on this day than they have been, one of the reasons Sylvain has chosen this day, as well as a secret he doesn’t dare tell Felix: that today is his birthday.

Sylvain knows Felix would not react positively to knowing this. Even though he had not been captured on his birthday itself, their failed escape, plans to join the resistance, were all constructed knowing that this day was on the way. Sylvain doubts that Felix would have any positive feelings at all towards it, even all these years later, and he is already twenty-three.

The corridors are quiet; Sylvain has already ensured this. Felix's eyes are glancing around warily. He noticeably comes closer to Sylvain when they _do_ pass someone, and despite everything, Sylvain cannot help but see a single hope in that. Perhaps there is a little trust put in Sylvain after all.

Felix appears confused when Sylvain guides him to the third floor of the monastery, but this soon disappears from his face when he’s led out onto the Star Terrace. In fact, he even relaxes, closing his eyes as the wind hits his face.

“I thought this would be best, so you’re able to go outside without being around a lot of people,” says Sylvain. “It’s pretty up here, isn’t it?”

With a nod, Felix walks forward towards the centre of the terrace. He glances around him, taking in the sight of the sky; due to the time of year, despite it only being the afternoon, a sunset already hangs above them. It brings back a lot of memories for Sylvain. It used to be their first kiss; now, he also remembers Rodrigue’s tears.

“Quiet, too. And the cold isn’t so bad today, which I thought would be good for you. I know you’re still falling ill easily at the moment.”

When Sylvain stands by Felix’s side, the latter turns to him. His eyes still flicker everywhere continuously, but this time, it’s not in fear. He simply has a lot to take in. He takes in Sylvain, all of the plants around them, that beautiful sky.

“There’s … a lot to see.”

Sylvain’s heart stops. Quiet as it may be, that’s Felix’s voice. His _voice._ Sylvain’s mouth drops open, but he tries to not be startled, or cry once again. He worries that if he reacts too intensely, Felix might recoil again.

Instead, Sylvain keeps his voice calm as he says, “Yeah. It’s a lovely view, and all those colours … Do you remember us having our first kiss beneath a sky like this?”

Felix’s hum causes Sylvain’s heart to swell. Sylvain edges that little closer to him. All he wants is to wrap his arm around Felix’s shoulders, bring him closer, but he knows to keep his distance.

This patience is rewarded with Felix speaking again. “I’m still not used to it. Seeing.” Sylvain brings his gaze back to him. Waits for him to continue, and he does. “It’s strange. I existed for those years, and I had a consciousness, but all I remember seeing is that rain and mud one second, then you on the floor the next.”

Sylvain is scared to respond in case it ruins it all. A single word had been enough, never mind full sentences. Felix’s eyes have dropped to the floor, uncertain again, and Sylvain can tell that another few sentences won’t be possible. Still, his heart aches with the heaviness of his pride for Felix.

“Did you feel anything?” Sylvain has to ask, barely above a whisper. Felix hums again.

“Vaguely. Pain, loneliness. Fear.”

But nothing else. Not when trapped in his mind like that. Sylvain swallows, forcing his hand to remain by his side. He wants to do something, _anything,_ to make this better, before realising that he’s already been doing everything he can to improve it all.

For Felix breathes out, unable to say another word, but some kind of weight has been lifted from the air. An obstacle they couldn’t see before has now vanished, and Sylvain knows that despite the pain in Felix’s eyes, they have made progress again today.

* * *

Something that Sylvain has always found adorable about Felix is the way his face scrunches up when eating a vegetable he dislikes. Which, when it comes to Felix, is almost all vegetables bar a few honoured exceptions.

Sylvain remembers mealtimes fondly in their childhood, how Felix would sniffle and glare at some carrots on his plate. Rodrigue had often tried to encourage Felix by saying they’re a little similar to Sylvain. _“Look, Felix, they’re almost the colour of Sylvain’s hair, only more orange.”_

Of course, it hadn’t worked, and Sylvain would be left with the only option of sneaking Felix’s vegetables onto his plate. Looking back, Rodrigue must have certainly noticed more times than not.

Perhaps it is wrong of Sylvain to think of those days when he helps Felix with his food. Still, Felix is still _Felix,_ even with his trauma and healing progress. It’s difficult to think otherwise when he noticeably perks at the sight of some spicy chicken on a plate.

“The medics agreed that it’s time you can enjoy some of your previous favourites.” Despite how Felix isn’t wearing anything to lessen sound, he’s no longer reacting to the sound of Sylvain’s voice, even as he speaks at a moderately normal volume. “You remember how much you love spicy meat, don’t you?”

Felix nods. And, with little time to waste, digs straight into his food.

Sylvain cannot help but grin. It seems as though this sense in particular has been easy to make steady steps with, and so long as a plate of vegetables isn’t forced under Felix’s nose, he’ll be fine. Sylvain eats his own food as well whilst sitting in that chair besides Felix.

It’s true what they say, about how wonderful the benefits of eating a favourite dish are. Felix soon eats the entire thing and seems reasonably perkier afterwards. In fact, he’s smiling again, and this time it reaches his eyes.

“That was great, huh?” says Sylvain. “We really did get used to eating spicy food, to keep us warm in Faerghus and all.”

Felix nods. He’s silent for a moment, smile fading as his eyes grow deep in thought. Eventually, he says, “We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“Yeah. Years and years.”

“Years also passed us by when I was …” Felix inhales deeply. His eyes have closed, although open again when Sylvain’s hand is placed near him. “But it kind of feels like it did before. And you searched for me, all that time.”

Sylvain nods. “I promised you that I’ll always find you. And never once did I stop thinking of you while you were gone.”

Teeth find Felix’s lip. A tear trickles down his face, and Sylvain’s chest tightens. “I think … I think I had memories, in that time. A bit. And that those are what stopped me from losing my mind completely.”

“Memories?”

“Of you and I. How I loved you.” Felix pauses, eyes cast down. “ _Love_ you, even. I still do.”

Sylvain swallows, trying not to shed his own tears. “You love me?”

“Obviously, idiot.”

Oh, screw it. When Sylvain lets out a laugh, those tears fall, and he wipes his arm at his eyes. “Goddess, you never change. I love you too, _stupid.”_

A smile is on Felix's face. And there’s something that makes Sylvain’s heart soar higher than it has ever done so before: the slightest hint of a chuckle.

The good moments are not permanent. Sometimes, a positive day is followed by a much harsher slumber. Nightmares persist. Endless darkness, fear—from what Felix has been able to tell Sylvain, at least. 

Sylvain, having left his own room to fetch water, enters Felix’s when he hears sobbing beyond the door. The glass is placed down to one side as he slides into a crouch by Felix’s bed. His hands grasp tightly at the covers, tears drenching his face. He’s asleep. 

Usually, Sylvain wakes him up when he experiences these nightmares, but something stops him; Felix seeming that slight bit calmer when Sylvain hovers his hand by Felix’s. Hesitantly, worried he will be crossing a boundary, his fingers trace over the back of Felix’s hand.

A stir. What Sylvain fears will be Felix waking in a panic is the latter taking Sylvain’s hand in his own and, just like that, his breathing begins to regulate.

Sylvain remains there until sunlight peeks in through the window, and he has to leave before Felix wakes.

* * *

Five passing moons bring Felix speaking to his father at last. Short words, but still words nonetheless. Two weeks later, the same is brought to his friends, although he is often left overwhelmed afterwards. In those moments, Sylvain, depending on Felix’s needs in that moment, either reads him a book, sings to him, or leaves him be, with the reminder that Felix will never be alone again.

At the sixth moon, Felix makes another choice. Sylvain has come to realise how important choices are. They control your life, give you a say in how you live it, down to the tiniest things. One day, Sylvain asks if Felix would like the former to trim his hair, for it is getting longer. Felix, with a huff, says he likes it. And that is that.

The seventh moon brings Sylvain an even larger realisation of how brave Felix truly is. Wandering around the monastery, even in the quieter parts, is incredible when there are so many around. His senses must be haywire, and he’s trying to adjust to perceiving anything at all after five years of this being stripped away. But still, he tries, and he seems to be doing so with more resolve than ever.

“May I hold your hand?” Sylvain asks one day, as the two walk by the stables. Felix nods, and it turns out that the spark that ignites whenever their palms touch never quite left them.

A lot of things haven’t left. Felix may not speak as much as before, but his personality is still there. All that sass packed inside him, the little moments of awkwardness and embarrassment. Slowly, it seems to be coming to life. Every sign of Felix growing causes Sylvain’s excitement to burst; never, however, does he try and push it further. He’s patient, and he always will be. In his eyes, the changes which have happened over almost a year have been tremendous.

He keeps growing, and growing, and what Sylvain has noticed is that no one tries to rush Felix. Sylvain admittedly knows little about how the other Crest bearers they saved have been faring aside from the basics. His heart cannot handle being the crutch for more than one person, and Felix is the only person among them who Sylvain loves. But they face similar situations, even if the severity can differ. Sylvain imagines this being a widespread issue helps those around them to understand and be patient with them.

Even so, Sylvain is grateful, as well as with Felix for allowing himself to heal slowly.

“I hate this,” he’ll sometimes say. “I hate how weak I am, what this has turned me into.”

But other times it’s, “I know it sounds dumb, but I managed to hug my father, and I’m quite proud of that.”

Ups and downs are part of the progress, in all sorts of ways—Sylvain supposes that it will be like this for the rest of Felix’s life. But in a sense, that’s all life is, and it just so happens that it might have some differences in Felix’s case, and be more prevalent at times. Sylvain doesn’t mind. He couldn’t do so when all he wanted for years was to hold Felix, and now the ninth moon has passed since they were reunited, they sleep by each other’s side again.

“I do trust you, by the way,” Felix mumbles sleepily one night, when his head rests against Sylvain’s chest. “I don’t think I ever confirmed that.”

He didn’t by words. But he had already done so through every other way possible. By allowing himself to be vulnerable around Sylvain, by letting him grow closer, smiling when he is held. It all screams how much Felix does trust Sylvain after all. Still, it never hurts to hear it.

In response, Sylvain brushes a kiss on the top of Felix’s head, hoping that one day, their lips can join together once again.

Felix has also fallen into a schedule. He first fears having a sword in his hands, then grows anxious at the sounds; Sylvain cushions a dummy to assist with this, helping Felix fall back into the motions of swinging that blade, and by the time the twelfth moon arrives, the two can train together again like they used to.

Never too much. Sylvain himself has his own traumas, and sometimes, they cannot fight for long before Sylvain is sweating and his mind focuses on the day he had to fight Felix’s controlled self. Felix’s physical health also remains fragile and will likely have lifelong ailments. Still, there are moments when it feels exactly like the old times.

There are less worries now they simply fight through each day. Sometimes, it feels like they’re not even fighting, merely living; such a day arrives when Felix finally bursts into a fit of laughter over some silly joke of Sylvain’s. It’s a sound which resonates in him more than the most beautiful song.

* * *

A cool morning arrives eighteen moons after the day of their reunion. Felix wakes early and, much to Sylvain’s surprise, comes knocking on _his_ door. Now the two are walking hand-in-hand through the monastery. Over a year later, the damage that had occurred in the battle has been fixed.

“Do you think I’ll be able to leave here, one day?” asks Felix. Sylvain gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe not just yet, but one day, yes.”

“Good. I hate the thought of keeping you here to help me out.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” says Sylvain. “Not at all. No matter where we are, I’m the happiest when I’m with you. And I mean that.”

“You really do love me, don’t you?”

“Always have, always will.”

“Sappy.” Still, Felix smiles, and Sylvain knows he will never take such a sight for granted. Nor how Felix holds onto his hand tighter and moves a little closer.

Their steps take them to the bridge connecting to the cathedral. It overlooks the sky around them, filled with speckles of pink, yellow and orange; Sylvain exhales a deep breath, thinking that at last, though there is still so much to be done, he can stare at that sunrise and see the hope within it.

“Okay?” Sylvain murmurs when he feels Felix flinch slightly at the sound of a particularly large bird. He nods.

“Sounds have always been the worst,” he says. “One moment, I heard you shouting as you cried, all that sneering. Then there were the bangs and distant shouts in the cathedral. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible.” A pause, before he adds, “Although you’ve helped with it. I remember when you first sang to me.”

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “Kind of corny looking back, huh?” 

“Yeah, but I still … I remember how much it brought back everything I felt for you. It took me a while to let you in again, and I still struggle with that now, but … There, in that moment, I think I felt a slight bit of hope for the first time in years.”

“I’ll always be there to give you that hope. And you know, you’re constantly giving me that in return.”

“How?” No laughter, no roll of Felix’s eyes. Despite how Sylvain feels as though that answer is obvious.

“Are you kidding me? Felix, you’ve shown nothing but strength by making it this far. I can’t even imagine what you went through. Like, I know I didn’t have the easiest time for all those years, but I at least was able to perceive everything, had others with me. I … Honestly, the fact you’re here, holding my hand, is a miracle in my eyes.”

Sylvain cannot suppress a smile when Felix looks down, colour reaching his cheeks. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Let’s not turn this into a back-and-forth. We’re both stubborn bastards and would be here all day.”

“True.” Felix smiles in amusement, bringing his eyes back to the sunrise. “I … I’m still scared, Sylvain. Of what’s around me, of the future, everything. But I think if I keep trying to push forward, and have you by my side, I might be okay.”

“Yeah. I feel the same about you.” Sylvain kisses Felix’s temple. Closer, closer, to those lips he’s yearned over for six and a half years. “We’re strong on our own, but stronger together. Right?”

“Right. It’s always been that way.”

Another silence falls. They simply stare out at that sky, so close that their arms brush against each other. Close enough that Sylvain can hear Felix’s breaths. He’s grown observant with them after how long he has listened to them, constant monitoring and making sure Felix is as well as can be in the moment.

And this time, the slight shortness of his breathing presents Felix’s nerves. The good kind.

“Sylvain?”

“Mm?”

“I … I want you to kiss me again. Only this time—yeah.” Felix’s voice drops to a mumble. “Don’t make me spell it out.”

Sylvain’s heart is beating faster, he swears his head is already in the clouds before their lips have even touched, but he always wants to respect Felix’s boundaries. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure in my life.”

That’s enough reassurance for Sylvain. His spare hand reaches for Felix’s face, tucking strands of long hair behind his ear as Sylvain leans down and brings their lips together.

It’s careful. Lighter than a butterfly’s wing. Even so, a fire erupts inside Sylvain’s chest, similar to how it felt the first time they kissed all those years ago.

They still have time for new firsts, new beginnings. There’s a long road ahead, and it has never been easy, not for a single day. But Sylvain never stopped searching for him across those years, and he’s not going to abandon him now.

Their lips part. There will not be a day in existence where Sylvain isn’t thankful for Felix to cry tears of joy, or for him to be able to say, “Thank you, Sylvain.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to find me on Twitter @nikobynight for writing snippets and my FE3H & NSFW art. Also find the bakeoff Twitter @TGFodlanBakeoff!
> 
> And the themes:  
> Flowers: The flower crown, used to help Felix with his sense of smell  
> Reunion: Their reunion, of course  
> Courage: Sylvain's courage with finding Felix, and Felix's courage in his healing  
> Sunrise/sunset: mmm those skies  
> Trust: The undying trust between them


End file.
